


The Rain Seems Heavier Than Usual These Days

by Linderosse



Series: It's a Hard Knock Life [2]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Disciples of Shouyou being adorable, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Smol Joui 3, SmolZura is a good kid and deserves all the love and affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29957343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linderosse/pseuds/Linderosse
Summary: Katsura yawns and tries to rub the weariness from his eyes. Responsibilities have been piling up lately. Katsura is exhausted. He doesn’t even notice he’s about to fall asleep over the lunch table until Takasugi pokes him awake.Gintoki’s gaze is somehow piercing and dull at the same time. He snaps his flip phone shut and shoves it into his backpack in a single motion.“I think,” he says, “that you guys should meet Shoyo.”————In which young Katsura faces hard times, but Gintoki, Takasugi, and Shoyo-sensei aren’t about to let him suffer alone.
Relationships: Katsura Kotarou & Sakata Gintoki, Katsura Kotarou & Sakata Gintoki & Takasugi Shinsuke, Katsura Kotarou & Takasugi Shinsuke, Katsura Kotarou & Yoshida Shouyou, Sakata Gintoki & Yoshida Shouyou, Takasugi Shinsuke & Yoshida Shouyou
Series: It's a Hard Knock Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181954
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	The Rain Seems Heavier Than Usual These Days

The three of them trudge over to Gintoki’s house. It’s a little bigger than Katsura’s apartment, and Katsura knows for a fact that it’s nowhere near the size of Takasugi’s mansion. Still, there’s a warm, cozy feel to the inside of it that Katsura immediately loves. It reminds him of when his parents were still alive, and of when his grandmother was still living at home and not trapped in the bone-white chill of the local hospital.

“Good evening, Gintoki!” calls a voice from inside the house.

“Yo, Shoyo.” Gintoki steps inside and tracks mud through the hallway because he hasn’t taken off his boots.

The voice’s tone shifts, just slightly. “Gintoki, I sincerely hope you took your boots off before walking through my hallway.”

“I did,” Gintoki lies, and then Shoyo walks around the corner and taps him gently on the head, except apparently it wasn’t that gentle at all because Gintoki shouts and suddenly his entire body hits the floor. He gets up, grumbling and rubbing the top of his head. Shoyo smiles.

“You’re a hundred years too early to get away with lying to me.”

“How do you _do_ that?” Gintoki whines. “How do you always know when I’m breaking the rules?”

“A teacher’s intuition.” Shoyo looks down the hallway at Katsura and Takasugi. “I see you’ve brought friends today? You should have told me earlier, Gintoki; I’d have cleaned up a bit more!”

Gintoki introduces them. Shoyo is a slim man with long, pale hair and the kindest smile Katsura has ever seen. He confirms that he’s a teacher at their school— he teaches the year above them.

This clarifies something that had been nagging at Katsura for a while. Gintoki doesn’t seem to have the money to pay for an education at the private institution they attend, like Takasugi’s family does. And Gintoki isn’t a scholarship student like Katsura. But Shoyo’s presence explains it— Gintoki’s here because his guardian is a teacher.

Shoyo continues, commenting that he also stays after school to coach the debate team. Apparently Gintoki tried waiting with him after school the first few days of the semester but found it so boring that he decided he’d just walk home without Shoyo instead of having to sit through debates.

“Why would anyone take all the fun out of arguing by tying it up with all those rules and structures? The whole point of arguing is to scream really loud at your opponent until they give up. That’s the fun of it. Jeez.”

Shoyo shares a grin with the other two. “As you can see, Gintoki doesn’t appreciate people using silly societal constructs like ‘logic’ or ‘reasoning’ to prove him wrong.”

Katsura giggles at the mental image of Gintoki and the ducks in the neighborhood lily pond having an ‘argument.’

Takasugi notices a rather odd-looking handgun hanging above the mantle and asks about it.

“Oh yeah. Shoyo’s an amazing shot with that thing,” Gintoki comments dryly, with all the excitement of someone remarking on the day’s weather. “This one time, he—”

Shoyo places a hand on his arm. Gintoki looks up at him and something passes between the two of them that causes Gintoki to clamp his mouth firmly shut. 

“I don’t touch it anymore,” Shoyo says. His hands are folded neatly in his lap and he isn’t looking at any of them, vacant gaze fixed on the yellowed lights hanging from the ceiling above the dining table. He turns back to Takasugi with a smile.

“But we do practice kendo in the backyard rather frequently.”

“Shoyo taught me,” Gintoki says proudly, and this time Shoyo smiles in encouragement. “Ain’t nobody can beat me but him.”

“I hope to one day open a public school that teaches martial arts as well as general education. But I don’t have the money or support for that yet,” Shoyo admits.

“I used to do kendo,” Takasugi pipes up. Katsura turns: he didn’t know that.

Gintoki smirks. “Really? A pipsqueak like you? Can’t believe you can even lift a sword—” Shoyo lifts his hand and brings it lightly down and a smack resounds in the warm evening air and Gintoki’s down for the count. Katsura can almost see a thin stream of smoke trailing from the top of his head.

“Now, Gintoki, give your friend a chance. Shinsuke, isn’t it?” Takasugi nods. “Why don’t I lend you a practice sword and you can challenge Gintoki right now? I will warn you, though. He’s not bad, if I do say so myself.”

‘Not bad’ turns out to be an understatement. Gintoki is… someone different when he fights. Katsura watches his two friends dance over the shoddily paneled wooden patio outside Shoyo’s apartment and he’s enthralled. Their eyes gleam. Their breaths are focused. Takasugi swings with power and conviction but Gintoki seems to flow from one stance to the next like air. He moves and dodges like it’s an instinct. It’s amazing.

Katsura wants to do that too.

Takasugi loses. “I’m out of touch,” he spits out as Gintoki crows victory. “Wait ‘til I practice a bit and I’ll beat you; easy.”

“I can give you some tips, if you’d like,” says Shoyo with a merry twinkle in his eyes.

“Shoyo, noooooo! Don’t help him! You should be helping meeeee!” Gintoki tugs at Shoyo’s light jacket.

“I would be glad to help both of you,” Shoyo says magnanimously, and Takasugi takes him up on the offer immediately, so Gintoki does too, and soon they’re quarrelling about who’ll learn faster.

“Kotaro?” Shoyo asks gently. Katsura’s head whips around; he hadn’t noticed the man looking at him. “Would you like to learn as well?”

It’s a tempting offer. So tempting. Katsura’s small apartment feels dark and empty ever since grandmother was admitted to the hospital, and Shoyo’s house is so warm. But Katsura thinks of all the chores he still has to do every day, his homework, and studying, and visiting his grandmother in the hospital, and waking up two hours early to help in the kitchens at school so he can earn a small wage and take some food home for dinner, and—

“I don’t think I have the time,” Katsura says politely. “But thank you for the offer.”

Shoyo’s eyes soften. “No problem at all. Let me know if you ever change your mind, alright?”

* * *

Takasugi starts spending evenings at Gintoki’s house. He goes straight from school to Shoyo’s apartment, where he and Gintoki learn kendo from Shoyo. Katsura comes to watch the first few lessons, but the bags under his eyes deepen, and even though he’s clearly doing his best to stay awake he ends up falling asleep in the middle of a session. Shoyo tells him as kindly as possible that he doesn’t have to come; he should focus on what matters to him and not on pleasing anyone else, his friends or otherwise. Katsura shakes his head and opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but Shoyo gets this pained look in his eyes and tells Katsura to please get some sleep and Katsura acquiesces.

So from then on, it’s just Takasugi and Gintoki and Shoyo. Gintoki’s good, but Takasugi starts catching up pretty quickly.

“Thank you, Shoyo-sensei,” he says at the end of one session, and bows.

Shoyo laughs. “You’re very welcome, Shinsuke.”

It becomes something of a ritual for Takasugi. At some point, Gintoki starts following the trend as well.

“Thanks, Shoyo.” He bows.

A raised eyebrow. “While your gratitude is much appreciated, it’s not going to get you out of loading the dishwasher, Gintoki.”

So it goes at the end of every class. Katsura visits occasionally during their sessions to laugh at their failures and cheer their successes. Once he realizes he doesn’t have to watch the entire lesson if he doesn’t want to; that he can simply do homework there so as not to waste time, Katsura starts going to Shoyo’s training sessions much more frequently. After a while, even he picks up the habit, bowing as he leaves.

“Thank you, Shoyo-sensei.”

Shoyo looks bemused. “But I haven’t taught you anything yet, Kotaro.”

Katsura envisions himself sitting alone in his empty apartment. He bows deeper. “Still.”

Shoyo ruffles his hair. Katsura can feel himself flushing red, so he makes a big deal out of having to put his ponytail back up again, and Gintoki retorts that he should just cut his hair, which sets Katsura off on a lecture about appearances and hair lengths. He doesn’t even let Gintoki get a word in edgewise.

“...besides, Shoyo-sensei has long hair. And Shoyo-sensei is good, which means people with long hair can be good too. So there!”

Katsura finishes his speech with a sniff and a flip of his head.

Shoyo laughs and informs them that the length of one’s hair isn’t really a good way to judge people in the first place, but Gintoki still grudgingly admits defeat in the face of Katsura’s infallible logic and conviction.

* * *

They’re always together now, the three of them. It’s a bit strange having friends like them, but Katsura likes it. 

Until one fateful day.

“Hey, Zura.”

Katsura doesn’t respond, but wonders who this Zura is and why Gintoki’s calling him.

“Zura. Oi.”

Zura doesn’t seem to be replying to Gintoki either. Katsura keeps reading his book.

“Oi!”

Gintoki shakes his shoulder roughly and Katsura finally looks up.

“What?”

“Zura, tell Takasugi that unicorns are just horses with a corn stuck to their head.”

“Unicorns are _not_ horses with corns on their head because _unicorns don’t exist_!” Takasugi screeches from somewhere in the distance. Gintoki flips him off.

“Hold on,” says Katsura, who is rather unconcerned by unicorns, “what did you just call me?”

“Zura,” says Gintoki. He picks his nose. “Why?”

“Because that’s not my name,” Katsura says. “My name is Katsura Kotaro; you know that.”

“Yeah, but I wanna call you Zura. Katsura’s too long.”

“You’ve been calling me Katsura all this time!”

“No I haven’t.”

“Yes you have!”

“No I haven’t. Go reread the rest of this fic series.”

Katsura skims over it and is deeply disappointed to find out that Gintoki’s right.

“The author never clarified…”

“Uh-huh. ‘Cause it’s obvious you’re Zura.”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura!”

The line rings strangely in his head; like he was always meant to speak it. Katsura gets an odd feeling that he’ll be saying variations of those words for a very long time.

* * *

He’s right. In just the next day alone, Gintoki calls him Zura at least three times. Katsura’s unfailing response: “It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura!” whistles through one ear on that fluffy silver head and right out the other, but Katsura keeps up the protest diligently.

At first, Katsura reasons that refusing the nickname enough will get Gintoki to stop. But it isn’t long before he realizes that he only really minds it a little bit, and that repeating his denial over and over again isn’t a chore at all. It becomes a rote pattern, familiar and comforting.

He has no idea when Gintoki managed to work his way so completely into his life. But somewhere along the line, things changed. Now, when Katsura thinks “best friend,” he imagines not just Takasugi’s concentration and biting wit, but also the smell of strawberry syrup and Gintoki’s lazy, calm voice calling for “Zura.”

* * *

Takasugi returns home every evening in time for a silent dinner with his father, and occasionally his mother if she can be bothered to come downstairs rather than hole up on the second floor with her outfits, makeup, and recreational drugs.

His father doesn’t seem to be bringing out the belt as often these days. His business has hit an upswing; it seems.

And he hasn’t yet bothered to ask where Takasugi is spending his afternoons.

Takasugi’s father wants to secure new business contracts, and Takasugi’s friendships with the rich kids at school are important in achieving that goal. Spending time with riffraff like Katsura, the scholarship student; or Gintoki, who’s only here because Shoyo is a teacher; is prohibited. So if Takasugi’s father were to know that Takasugi hasn’t spoken to some of those rich kids in months...

It’s a ticking time bomb, learning from Shoyo-sensei every afternoon. But Takasugi can’t seem to bring himself to care about the repercussions.

* * *

“Mmmm. Stupid percentages.” Katsura twirls a strand of hair around his finger while he works. 

On the patio in front of him, Takasugi and Gintoki are dueling again. Katsura takes a break from his homework to watch them. He’s always been perceptive, and he thinks he gets some of the principles behind the fighting— the footwork, the stances. After watching them nearly every day for weeks, Katsura is reasonably certain that Takasugi projects his movements well in advance. Katsura watches and imagines how he’d counter, block, and use Sensei’s low strike to finish it off if he were the one fighting Takasugi.

Gintoki is not so easy to read. He seems to move half on instinct, deviating often from learned forms. It makes him unpredictable, yet vulnerable.

Meanwhile, the percentages on the paper in front of Katsura remain as confusing as before.

“Hey, Gintoki,” Katsura calls out in a lull between matches.

“What?”

“Did you do the math homework yet? I don’t understand the last question.”

Gintoki raises an eyebrow. “You’re asking me? Zura, if _you_ don’t get it, I’m not gonna either.” 

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” Katsura mumbles. Gintoki grins. Takasugi returns from the restroom and they face off again, the clack of wooden practice swords resounding across the patio.

“Trouble with your math homework, Kotaro?” Shoyo-sensei takes a seat next to him and looks over at his paper. “Percentages, I see.”

“Yes.” Katsura doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t understand the questions he’s supposed to have done by tomorrow.

But Shoyo-sensei seems to have figured out that Katsura’s confused. “Do you know the meaning of the word ‘percent,’ Kotaro?”

He doesn’t, no.

“Per. Cent.” Shoyo continues. “‘Per’ means ‘For every’ —“

“Like pay-per-view TV?”

Shoyo laughs. “Sure, like that. Pay for every view, right? Do you know what cent means?”

Katsura goes a little red and shakes his head again. He hasn’t been able to answer either of Sensei’s questions— he’s really showing off his incompetence, isn’t he? Shoyo-sensei is going to think he’s an idiot.

Shoyo smiles. “How many years are in a century?”

“A hundred?” Understanding strikes. “Oh, is that what ‘cent’ means? Then percent means ‘for every hundred’— So 27% would be ‘twenty-seven for every hundred…’”

Shoyo’s smile widens. “Brilliant. Now, the first question— what’s 27% of 300? Well, we need to take 27 parts for every 100…”

Katsura’s eyes narrow as he works it out. “So there are three ‘hundreds’ and we need twenty-seven for each of those, so twenty-seven times three… Eighty-one?”

Shoyo gives him a brief round of applause, grinning. The sound of it is wonderful. Takasugi and Gintoki’s loud duel is completely erased from his senses; all his concentration is narrowed onto this one point. Understanding something is a heady feeling. But then a hole breaks through the light. Katsura has a question.

“Sensei, what if it was twenty-seven percent of eighty-one? There isn’t even one ‘hundred’ in the eighty-one— what do you do then?”

Shoyo-sensei reaches behind him to snag a blank paper and pen off the table. He starts writing.

“Correct you are, Kotaro! See, there’s more than one way to calculate a percentage…”

* * *

The belt is pulled out once again. Takasugi’s back stings for the rest of the evening, and by the next afternoon it’s still throbbing dully.

When Gintoki knocks him down during their duel, Takasugi happens to fall right onto the welt. A choked gasp escapes him. He curls up on the floor.

Shoyo-sensei is by his side in an instant.

“Shinsuke, are you alright?”

Gintoki mumbles something that Takasugi can’t hear.

“Where did you hit him, Gintoki?” Sensei’s tone isn’t accusing.

“Just his shoulder— but he seemed to get hurt when he fell on the floor, not when I hit him.”

Sensei turns to him, worry in his eyes. “Shinsuke, may I see your back?”

Takasugi blanches. “No.”

He starts to get up, but he has to bend his back to do it and he can’t suppress a wince. Sensei helps him stand, then asks again with a firmer tone.

“It’s my job to prevent you from receiving injuries in this house. Even light injuries you might think are just sprains can become very serious very fast. Please let me see your back.”

It takes a few more tries, but Shinsuke relents.

Sensei sucks in a breath at the welt he sees there. Even Gintoki’s eyes widen, and Takasugi hates that, hates even more that Gintoki knows. He’s thankful that Katsura isn’t here, at least. Sensei traces a hand beside the welt as if unsure it’s real, and his touch is light as a feather, cool and painless. Takasugi can’t resist a shiver nonetheless.

“Shinsuke. Where did you get this?” Sensei asks tonelessly.

Takasugi considers telling him. But then his father would _really_ get him.

“I tripped and fell,” he says, and he doesn’t elaborate even when pressed. Takasugi can tell that neither of them believe him. But they let it go.

“That’s about enough dueling for today, then,” says Sensei. “How about I demonstrate a new form for you both?”

* * *

Katsura doesn’t show up to school the next day.

Gintoki and Takasugi spend the first half of the day bickering about anything and everything. After lunch, they both get quiet and contemplative. They can kind of figure out what this means.

Katsura doesn’t show up the next day either. Or the day after that.

An entire week later, he’s back at school. He seems normal, entirely so. Even at morning recess, he smiles and jokes around as usual.

Just before lunch, their teacher becomes particularly vicious. His jowls quiver as he stomps across the front of the class, and he seems to have it out for Katsura in particular. Takasugi and Gintoki catch on quickly; they try being rude to draw the teacher’s ire, but the man ignores them for once and repeatedly draws attention to the fact that Katsura has missed a week of school. The teacher doesn’t know why. No one really does yet; Katsura hasn’t told anyone. But Takasugi and Gintoki have an inkling and they really try their best to shield Katsura.

It’s something rather simple that ends up being the final straw. The teacher calls Katsura to the board to write a sentence explaining the main idea of a passage they read last week in class. Normally Katsura revels in these moments. Yet this time Katsura walks up to the board, palms the chalk, and then just… stops. Silent tears drip down his face onto the tiled floor.

The class is silent.

“Zura?...” Gintoki begins, shocked.

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” Katsura chokes out, and then informs the teacher through his tears that he wasn’t there and doesn’t know the passage. When the teacher starts grandstanding again, Katsura just drops the chalk and leaves, not at a run, but at a stately walk. The door closes quietly behind him.

It’s raining outside. Katsura left his stuff behind. Takasugi and Gintoki simultaneously jump from their chairs to go after him.

“If any of you leave, your parents are hearing about this!” their teacher screeches.

Takasugi blanches and freezes in place. Gintoki shoots a glance at the door, then back at Takasugi. The look that passes between them is weighted with understanding. It pulls them together in purpose, driven to the same goal.

“You stay here, Bakasugi,” Gintoki mutters as he strides forward and snatches up Katsura’s bag. “Someone’ll need to keep track of the lesson so Zura can catch up with what he’s missed, and I’m no good at that.”

Another second and Gintoki’s out the door, which slams shut behind him— he’s nowhere near as cautious as Katsura was.

Today’s the first day since the beginning of the school year that Takasugi takes notes.

He wishes he’d taken notes last week as well, if only so that Katsura could have written the correct answer on the board a few minutes ago.

* * *

Katsura shivers as he walks away from the school in the rain. He doesn’t have a jacket or an umbrella— all his stuff is in the bag he left in the classroom, but he really doesn’t feel like going back in there.

His hair starts to itch in its ponytail and he curses and lets it down and finger combs it before tying it up again.

He finds himself at the pond with the lilies that Gintoki fell into earlier this year. He walks to the other side of it and stands in the trees, partially out of the rain, looking over the surface of the water as it shudders with the impact of a multitude of soft raindrops. He remembers the conversation he had here. He feels empty inside. It’s cold.

He’s not sure how long he stays there— it feels like forever. Eventually he returns to his small apartment, soaking wet. The lights flicker on as he flips the switch. He sneezes and grabs a towel and starts drying his hair, but he’s distracted by the photos on the wall, by the empty fridge and pantry that used to be filled with the ingredients to make soba because his grandmother—

Katsura walks up to the fridge and allows himself to reminisce, getting lost in the memory until it overlays reality and he can almost see the way things used to be in this apartment. It doesn’t last long, though. When he recovers, he notices a lump outside the doorway through the window. He must not have noticed it on his way in.

He goes back outside to retrieve it— it’s his backpack, umbrella, and jacket, with a hastily-written note explaining that Gintoki had been searching for him and knew he’d have to return here eventually, and that Gintoki knows Katsura might want to be alone, but that Katsura should call Gintoki when he arrives.

Katsura pulls his little flip-phone from the backpack’s pocket and he means to call Gintoki, but when he opens it he sees his background set to a blurry photo of three children standing victoriously in front of another five or so running away, and Katsura remembers showing that photo to his grandmother in this very kitchen after his first day of school, and…

The phone drops from Katsura’s hands. He doesn’t feel like doing anything.

* * *

Takasugi and Gintoki are rather subdued when they arrive at Shoyo’s apartment— enough that Shoyo takes one look at them and asks, “What’s wrong, you two?”

“Something’s up with Zura,” Gintoki mumbles.

“You didn’t find him, then?” says Takasugi, and Gintoki shakes his head.

“Find him? Has Kotaro gone somewhere?” Shoyo speaks lightly, but a hint of worry has eased its way into his tone.

“He left in the middle of class today,” Takasugi explains. “Our teacher was being really rude to him because he missed class all of last week.”

“I think,” says Gintoki carefully, “that Zura’s grandma is…”

Shoyo’s expression falls. “Oh, dear. I hope he’s doing alright.”

“I left him a note saying that when he gets home, he should—”

Gintoki’s phone rings at that very moment, like the strings of fate and plot convenience are guiding it.

“It’s Zura!”

“Hello? Gintoki?”

“Zura! Are you alright?”

Takasugi smacks Gintoki on the shoulder. “Put that on speaker, dumbass.”

“I’m fine,” says Katsura. There’s a pause. “Thanks for bringing me my stuff.”

“No problem, Zura. Bakasugi took notes for you too.”

“He did?”

“Why’s that so surprising, huh? I can take notes if I want to!”

Katsura lets out a breath that might be the ruins of a laugh. “Thank you too, then, Takasugi.”

Shoyo asks for the phone. “Kotaro? I understand if you want to be alone at the moment, but please remember that we’re here for you. Do you want us to come over?”

There’s a long pause where they can just hear Katsura breathing.

“No. No, I’m fine. Thank you, Shoyo-sensei.”

And Katsura ends the call himself before Shoyo can reply.

* * *

They have their kendo session as usual, and Takasugi leaves for his home. Later that evening, Gintoki’s sitting on the floor of the patio outside with his homework sprawled out in front of him when a strange sense of worry hits him, like a nagging feeling that something’s off and he should know what it is. Then he realizes.

He yanks out his phone and calls Katsura to confirm his suspicions, praying that the other boy will pick up.

“Hello?”

“Zura! How’re you doing?” Gintoki closes his eyes and listens as hard as he can. There’s something off about Katsura’s breathing, he’s sure of it. It’s a lot louder than usual and has a hitch in it.

“I’m alright, Gintoki,” says Katsura’s voice. There’s an inflection on the ‘n’ in ‘Gintoki’ that implies his nose is stuffy. “I was just about to head to the convenience store to pick out something to eat. Thanks for your concern.”

“You sure about that, Zura? ‘Cause—”

“I am fine, really. Good night, Gintoki.”

“Hey, wait—”

The phone clicks. Gintoki’s instincts are screaming at him because of all the little things that are wrong and one very major thing— Gintoki had called him ‘Zura’ four times over both phone calls and Zura hadn’t reacted at all.

Gintoki sprints upstairs. “Shoyo! Shoyo, I think…”

Shoyo turns to look at Gintoki, mild confusion on his face, and Gintoki suddenly doesn’t know how to explain himself.

It all sounds a bit silly. Like he’s overreacting— who’s to say Zura wasn’t just preoccupied and that’s why he forgot to respond to the nickname, even though he did earlier today? What if Zura was exercising before he called or something, and that’s why his breathing was so weird? 

“What is it, Gintoki?”

Well, it’s better to make one extra trip to the convenience store than to leave Zura alone if he needs them now.

“I just called Zura, and I want a frozen yogurt strawberry parfait,” Gintoki declares.

Shoyo tilts his head, considering. “Right now? Well, you had your dinner, so I don’t see why not. I can make you one—”

“No. It has to be that extra sugary packaged brand that you can get at the convenience store by Zura’s house. Those ones are the best. And I want it now.”

Shoyo frowns. Then he catches on— he’s good at that; good at figuring out what Gintoki is trying to say when Gintoki can’t figure out how to say it. He grabs his winter coat and tosses Gintoki a jacket, hat, and scarf, and they set off at a brisk pace.

* * *

Katsura feels tired, and sort of overwarm. He’s not stupid: he knows he’s sick, and that he might possibly have a fever.

But he’s also _starving_. Usually, he wakes up two hours early and works in the cafeteria in the morning, in return for being able to take some food home for dinner. But today he hadn’t gone to school early enough to get breakfast, and he’d left before lunch, so he hadn’t been able to take dinner home.

He also hasn’t been living at home the last week— he’s been at the hospital nearly the entire time— and the refrigerator is depressingly empty. Katsura shuffles over to a drawer and counts his savings, then draws out a small portion. The convenience store is his only option.

Katsura coughs, and then something sticks in his throat and he coughs again and again and he feels like his throat is burning. He drinks some warm water and it makes him feel better for a bit. With his head in a daze, he manages to make his way to his closet and wrap himself in a jacket, then throw on a face mask.

It’s too cold outside, and Katsura shivers the whole way there. When he finally gets in, the convenience store’s bright white lights hurt his eyes. He stumbles over to one of the aisles and picks out a packaged sandwich and a can of Pocari, then makes his way to the counter. The cashier, who is in his late teens and wearing sunglasses indoors for some odd reason, rings up his purchase. Katsura fumbles in his jacket pocket to retrieve his change.

“You’re off by a bit,” the cashier says.

Really? Katsura checks the amount, but the numbers aren’t adding up in his brain. He dumps the contents of his pocket out on the counter and asks the cashier to give him back anything that’s left over.

“You still don’t have enough,” the cashier says patiently. “Here, look. If you want, you can go get a Nmaibo stick instead of that sandwich, and that might work.”

Katsura blinks. He feels the beginnings of tears start up again, and that blocks up his throat, which makes him cough, and when he starts coughing he can’t stop and soon he’s doubled over and the cashier is looking very worried.

“Uhhh. Kid? You okay?”

Katsura is so distracted that he doesn’t even hear the automatic sliding doors of the store hiss open behind him.

“Zura!”

Katsura gasps for breath after his coughing fit and looks up to find—

“Gintoki? Shoyo-sensei?”

Gintoki runs up to him with uncharacteristic haste and his usually blank stare is sharp. It’s enough to make Katsura look away, strangely guilty. He can feel the beginnings of a cough starting up again in the back of his throat. His head is still very fuzzy and it’s hard to think at all and the numbness is starting to wear away into fatigue.

Shoyo-sensei says something, but Katsura can’t understand him. Katsura starts coughing again. Shoyo’s eyes widen. Shoyo-sensei turns to the cashier and says something else, then places something on the counter. Katsura feels tired. He thinks he might have said this out loud, too, because suddenly he’s tilting sideways and Gintoki grabs his shoulder to keep him upright and then takes off his own scarf and wraps it around Katsura. It makes Katsura’s throat feel less scratchy— the relief is enough that Katsura lets his eyes fall shut. Then another much larger, warm article of clothing is wrapped around Katsura and he feels himself being lifted into the air and he’s held securely in someone’s arms. It’s comfortable. The material he’s wrapped in is still infused with warmth and smells like cinnamon and wood and paper, and the scarf around him is thick and smells like someone spilled strawberry syrup on it. Katsura feels like he’s floating. He lets himself drift off.

* * *

Gintoki stares up at Katsura, wrapped in Shoyo’s coat and held in one of Shoyo’s arms, as Shoyo finishes paying for the sandwich and drink. They make their way out of the convenience store into the biting cold of late evening. Streetlamps dissect their path into neat segments, and fragments of the light glint off of the wet pavement around them. Shoyo’s now wearing nothing but a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, but he seems unconcerned about his own temperature, instead reaching over to tug his coat more securely around Katsura, tucking the fabric around the boy to trap the warmth in. He presses a hand to Katsura’s forehead as they walk quickly through the empty roads.

“Zura’s kind of an idiot even though he’s so smart,” Gintoki muses, partially to himself.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Shoyo says, but he doesn’t disagree.

Katsura coughs and whimpers something. Shoyo shushes him and rubs comforting circles over his back and picks up the speed until Gintoki is practically jogging to keep up.

By the time they get home, Zura’s mostly awake again. He mumbles something about being sorry for the trouble, and that they should drop him off at his house. Shoyo gives him a stern frown.

“Kotaro, please let us keep you here for tonight. It’s no trouble at all.”

They lay Katsura out on Gintoki’s bed and press blankets all around him. He’s still shivering.

“Kotaro? Would you be okay with soup for dinner? You can eat the sandwich you bought later, alright? I think we still have some broth left over from yesterday— Gintoki, why don’t you stay with your friend for a bit while I get it ready.”

Shoyo leaves and Gintoki perches on the end of the bed. Katsura coughs weakly.

“M’ head hurts.” Katsura says.

“It’s ‘cause you’re thinking too much. You’re gonna tire out your brain.”

Katsura rolls his eyes. “Tha’s not how brains work.”

“How should I know how a wig-head’s brain works?”

“‘s uncertain whether _your_ brain works at all.” Katsura starts coughing and Gintoki clambers onto the bed and awkwardly rubs his back.

They sit there, chatting occasionally and aimlessly, until Shoyo brings the soup. Eventually, Katsura finishes it and starts snoring lightly, and Gintoki makes sure the comforter is pulled completely over him before leaving.

* * *

Gintoki worms his way closer to Shoyo under the covers. The one plus side of Katsura taking his bed is that Gintoki gets to sleep next to Shoyo again. The covers rustle as Shoyo shifts, tucks Gintoki’s head into the space between his own head and his neck, and wraps a gentle arm around him. Gintoki huddles further into the warmth. He’s reminded of the time he and Shoyo spent on the streets, sleeping in piles of blankets laid out in damp alleyways and abandoned buildings. He thinks about Zura and Zura’s grandmother.

“Shoyo?”

“Mm?”

“Can we help Zura? Like you helped me?”

Shoyo hums a short tune, something sad and yet also nostalgic. He runs a hand over Gintoki’s hair.

“I'll do my best, Gintoki. But it’s up to Kotaro as well. He may have plans to stay with other relatives.”

“Okay.” Gintoki lies there in silence for a bit longer, but the thoughts that keep swirling around his head are making it so he can’t sleep.

“Shoyo?

“Yes, Gintoki?”

Gintoki’s voice is a near whisper. “ _You_ won’t leave me, right?”

Shoyo flinches, just the barest amount, so minutely that Gintoki wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t pressed up against him. But Shoyo still responds. His words are spoken quietly in the darkness but they have a power that thrums through them.

“I will not leave you. As long as it is in my power, I will stay by your side, Gintoki.”

Gintoki breathes in. He feels dirty for even thinking this, for needing the reassurance, when Zura is in the next room over having lost what little he had. Still, his brittle, selfish heart rejoices to hear those words. He feels a lump forming at the back of his throat and he swallows again and again to make it go away.

“Good,” he says roughly instead of crying. “I still have a ton more to learn from you. Got that, Sensei?”

Shoyo makes a strange noise, partway between surprise and joy. “Gintoki,” he breathes, and then Gintoki finds himself being hugged to within an inch of his life.

“Ack! Shoyo, you’re gonna squish out my insides!”

Shoyo laughs. Gintoki lets a true, honest smile blossom over his face in the darkness, and it isn’t long before he falls asleep curled into his guardian’s side.

* * *

A few days later, Gintoki gets pulled out of class early for something, and he and Shoyo are out the rest of the day.

“Oh. Yeah, Shoyo told me about this. It’s nothing special, just an appointment.” Gintoki picks his nose as he ambles out of the classroom. “And Takasugi. Shoyo told me to tell you he can’t hold class today.”

Takasugi clenches his fists. Dammit. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go— he’ll have to spend his evening in his house with his father, and his father’s business deals have been getting turned down recently. More time at home means more of a chance for bruises under Takasugi’s clothes.

After school, on their way home, Katsura and Takasugi walk past the pond with the lilies in it, and Katsura stops there, looking out over the still pond and the ducks that float over it, marring its surface with ripples.

Takasugi takes a second to notice that Katsura hasn’t moved.

“Zura?”

“Not Zura, it’s Katsura.” Katsura takes a seat on the park bench by the pond. Takasugi strides over with a huff and sits down next to him. The pond looks the same as always— but perhaps Katsura is seeing something different. Takasugi kicks his feet a bit, then realizes that probably looks childish. He puts his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his hands instead. Katsura, of course, sits prim and perfectly upright with his hands in his lap, like a freaking girl.

They sit there for a few minutes in silence. The ducks squawk at nothing and everything, and Takasugi remembers when Katsura used to get up and squawk back with innocent glee as if they could understand him or something.

“I don’t really want to go home right now,” Katsura says, and Takasugi honestly thinks for a moment that he must have spoken his own thoughts out loud because that’s exactly what he was thinking.

“My apartment is a little too empty and quiet.” Katsura looks down. “It’s weird when there’s no one else to fill the silence.”

Takasugi doesn’t really understand, but in a way, he kind of does. He scoffs. But then he has a bright idea. He’s a bit embarrassed to suggest it, but it’s worth a shot.

“I can… I can come over.”

Katsura turns to look at him curiously. Takasugi becomes acutely aware that he’s never actually formally asked to hang out with Katsura before— they’ve always just both ended up at this pond, or at Shoyo’s house.

“To my apartment?” Katsura asks. His face goes a bit red. “It’s kinda small.”

“That’s not a problem!” Takasugi says at a near-shout. “I don’t like big houses anyways! We can hang out and read comics. Or watch TV. Or— I brought my Gameboy; we can play Pokemon—” Takasugi’s aware that he’s rambling, but he can’t seem to stop, until Katsura smiles at him. That shuts him up immediately, and he’s afraid he’s going to be turned away right on the spot.

But Katsura only says, “Thank you.”

He gets up, and takes Takasugi’s hand to pull him off the bench, and they spend the rest of the evening goofing off. When Takasugi gets home to find his father livid enough to lock him in the garage for the night again, it doesn’t even faze him that much anymore. The memory of Katsura’s soft smiles, and Gintoki’s sly smirks, and of that one time Katsura snorted milk out his nose when Gintoki tripped and fell into a mud puddle in the rain: as long as Takasugi can keep those thoughts in the forefront of his mind, he’s not as alone as he used to be.

And what really matters is that, by the end of that evening, Katsura was laughing openly and fully like he used to. If nothing else, Takasugi’s proud of that accomplishment.

* * *

The funeral for Katsura’s grandmother is a small, quiet affair. Some of her acquaintances come to pay their respects. But all in all, the Katsura family had not had many allies willing to stand by them when they fell upon hard times, so everything is over in record time. Katsura remains poised and proper, dressed in his best outfit, throughout the ceremony. He greets everyone with the same calm demeanor. His perfect persona doesn’t crack an inch, even after everyone leaves.

Takasugi expresses his condolences with a frown tugging at his face, like he can’t quite figure out what to say. Katsura understands. It’s hard to figure out what the right thing to say is. And Katsura doesn’t expect anyone to magically make everything okay. He’s thankful that Takasugi took the time to show up— even got his mother to drive him here, though she doesn’t leave the car to attend. The car smelled a bit weird too. Kind of like grass and lemons, but a lot weirder. Katsura doesn’t know why. Takasugi takes a while to break away from Katsura’s gaze, but he doesn’t so much as wave as he leaves. He seems like he’s in a hurry to get away, but he doesn’t want to go.

Finally, only Gintoki and Shoyo are left. Shoyo gave Katsura a ride to the ceremony, and will be driving Katsura back. Katsura turns to look at the two of them, and Gintoki remains passive, but Shoyo smiles sadly.

“Take your time, Kotaro-kun. We can wait.”

They’re nice. They’re so nice, and they don’t have to be. Shoyo is a busy person. Gintoki must be bored. Still, here they are, standing in this damp formal hall, wearing formal outfits, waiting for Katsura to say his last goodbyes to his grandmother before her body is cremated.

Katsura places a hand on the coffin and tries to communicate silently with his grandmother’s spirit. She will understand. And he will be the general of the Katsura household, like she asked.

There’s suddenly a presence at his side— it’s Gintoki. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there. For once, he’s not picking his nose or scratching himself, although his hands _do_ rest in his pockets in a pretty nonchalant fashion. He waits by Katsura’s side and they linger by the coffin together. A quarter of an hour passes. Then Katsura bows and leaves the funeral hall. Gintoki and Shoyo trail out after him, and Shoyo goes to bring the car from the parking lot up to the curb. 

Katsura doesn’t mean to burden others with his life. But something about the way Gintoki’s standing there; something about Gintoki in general, and Gintoki’s situation, has Katsura opening up to him while Shoyo gets the car. Gintoki is his friend. Katsura has not had many of those.

“I have no idea where I’m going to go after this,” Katsura admits. “I’ll probably have to move to a group home or something.”

Gintoki’s eyes widen just a little and his mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything, so Katsura continues, not quite looking at his friend.

“I’m kind of scared. I don’t want to leave everyone behind and start life over just yet, but I mean… I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

He laughs a bit, looking up at the gray morning sky. He thinks about going to school in a different town, without his grandmother or Takasugi or Gintoki or Shoyo-sensei. Especially Gintoki and Takasugi. It’s only been a few years in Takasugi’s case, and less than a year in Gintoki’s. But Katsura feels like if he has to be completely alone again, he might break.

Katsura turns to face Gintoki and tries to put all his honesty into his words, tries to make Gintoki know that he means it. He gives that silver-haired brat his brightest smile.

“I’ll miss you, Gintoki.”

Gintoki lets out a stuttering breath like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Zura. I—”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.”

“No, shut up, Zura, that’s not the point. Wait. I— Shoyo said I wasn’t supposed to say anything yet because I had to give you time after the funeral, but…”

He trails off. Shoyo’s car has pulled up to the curb. Seeing that they’re still talking, Shoyo parks and gets out. Gintoki seems to draw some strength from Shoyo’s approach, because he opens his mouth and the words burst from him.

“I mean, I talked to Shoyo and Shoyo asked around and looked at all the paperwork and stuff and he says that you might have other plans or something but if you don’t, then you could come and live with us.”

The words fly by a little too fast for Katsura to make them out.

“What?”

“You can live with us. If you’re okay with that. Shoyo says he won’t mind.”

Katsura’s breath leaves him. His mind whirls. Shoyo walks up to them; seems to have heard the end of that conversation.

“Not only would I not mind, I’d very much love it if you decided to live with us, Kotaro. I would be honored to be your legal guardian.” Shoyo-sensei turns to the other. “Although, Gintoki, I seem to recall asking you to give him some time to recover before you sprung this on him.”

“But he started it! He said he didn’t wanna go somewhere alone, and I couldn’t just let him say those stupid sad things with that stupid sad voice of his— Oi. Zura. Don’t cry; I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that you were actually stupid, I was just—”

Katsura sobs. He feels like his heart is breaking out of his chest. Tears that he hasn’t shed since the day his grandmother died leave him all at once. He runs forward and throws himself at the both of them, holding tight, and Gintoki yelps and stumbles backwards but Shoyo catches them both and then kneels down and wraps his arms around them and pulls them close, and Katsura lets himself fall to pieces. Gintoki lets Katsura embrace him. Shoyo runs his hand soothingly over Katsura’s hair.

“Oh, Kotaro. I’m so sorry. It’s okay. It’s okay to cry. Take your time.”

“You can say no if you want, Zura. You don’t _have_ to live with us. Don’t worry, I won’t be mad.”

It almost physically hurts how kind these two are. Katsura cries even harder. The three of them remain there, huddled together on the cold pavement outside the ceremony hall, for what feels like hours but must only have been minutes.

When Katsura eventually calms down, he gives them a tearful ‘yes.’ Gintoki grins. Shoyo beams.

And Katsura Kotaro gains a new family.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 will be out sometime soon, starring Takasugi. As before, if you'd like to be notified when I post it, please bookmark or subscribe to the _series_. I'm trying to make each of these into separate works.
> 
> Enjoying so far? Have ideas of your own? Leave me a comment-- I very much enjoy reading them!


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